


A Weekend Retreat

by Romanceisdead69



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: M/M, Murder Mystery, Yaoi, con later on, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanceisdead69/pseuds/Romanceisdead69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takaba Akihito is a freelance investigative journalist who has been on the verge of several scoops - but - all of his stories have been pulled before they even reach print and what's more, most of his targets have gone missing. </p><p>Just as he's thinking about these troubling coincidences, a well timed invite reaches him out of nowhere for a luxurious weekend retreat in a fancy out of town hotel - Sion. Owned by the mysterious billionaire, Asami Ryuichi. </p><p>What does the weekend hold in store for everyones' favourite photographer? Dun, Dun, Dunnnnn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ^^' 
> 
> I apologise for not updating the stories that actually NEED updating, I am part way through so many stories and chapters - what a mess! I shall try and get them up ASAP.
> 
> This is a two/three chapter story. Just a bit of fun. Hope you enjoy x
> 
> Warnings: Swearing, Yaoi, Murder - basically, all the good stuff...

                                                                       

 

**\- § -**

 

Akihito turns the quality card over in his hands, examining it for any details that may give away the intended recipient, bearing in mind that it had arrived at his humble little apartment in Tokyo just this morning along with the usual - last notices for bills, junk mail. He has no idea what to do with it, whether to again, disregard it as he does all of the notices for the latest overdue bills - or to look into attending this fancy looking function just to get a free meal.

His instinct screams that it’s some big scam or set up but, his very nature is to chase the story, the thrill and excitement of the unknown - and this is certainly as out of the blue as it gets. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to warrant this seemingly prestigious invite, the investigative photographer not having that many connections within the business or political elite in Tokyo - especially given the angle of most of his headline stories take as they tend to concentrate around trying to bring down those in power who are corrupt, who abuse the weak and the vulnerable - those who do unspeakable things and aren’t afraid to tread all over the vulnerable and poor to get to the top.

Well, that’s the dream anyway.

Akihito hasn’t been too successful in that regard as of yet, apart from the weddings and community stories he covers, all of his ‘major scoop’ stories and photo’s are always stopped just before they reach print, each time. His editor always having some reason or another why - that the culprit has turned up dead already so that it’s in fact now old news, or that another, more important story has cropped up in the mean time so his had been bumped down in the billing until it became nothing.

Discarded on the printing room floor and his story is once again ousted from the paper altogether.

The weird thing is though, from all of this - is that he still gets paid every time, he still sells his photo’s and articles without a problem (not that he does earn a huge deal from them) but not once has his editor been reluctant to take on the material, there are no questions asked and the man doesn’t bat even one of his fat eyelids at however controversial, however dire the story may be - or how many people it may upset.

So here Akihito is this morning, about to leave for yet another stakeout - this time involving none other than a well known minister for the opposition, Kouyama - and his involvement with embezzling money and dealings in the sex trade. Someone he's been after for weeks. 

Akihito can’t stand this kind of duality of character, a poster boy for a political campaign by day, all shaking hands and posing with various babies - yet by night he’s hanging out in the shady sex clubs, spending the money he’s managed to steal from various charities and businesses - millions of yen on prostitutes and underhand deals with gangsters.

Not wasting anytime Akihito places the invite on the fridge, pinned under a garish magnet of one of his favourite Animé characters where it’ll stay until he has the time to find out the fancy letters' intended recipient. For now though he swings by the bathroom to brush his teeth, wiping the excess toothpaste hastily from around his mouth on the way to shove a jacket on, pick up his camera bag and make his way out the door, ready for another adrenaline filled day of secret sleuthing.

 

**\- § -**

 

“So…um….my story, got dumped? Again?”

Akihito stares deadpan at his editor, Shinotake. The man sat like a great bloated Toad behind the desk in his too cramped office at the papers' headquarters, smoking a Cuban cigar and somehow looking very relaxed for someone who has an increasingly distressed photographer not even a metre away, one holding several blunt objects in his possession - blunt objects that are perfect for bludgeoning a certain irritating, unapologetic editor to death, for example.

This story had been one of Akihito’s finest, detailing the descent of the celebrated public figure - Kouyama, a ‘happily married’ family man - into a major criminal managing to launder millions from not only tax money but many charities as well and how he had used that money to invest in the triple whammy of sex, arms and drug markets! But no. The story had been dumped for an _exposé_ on the Dog show industry instead - and it’s uses of subpar dyes.

There is no reason for this blatant oversight, a _huge_ mistake - a travesty as far as Akihito is concerned and one - he thinks - that is an insult to the very world of journalism. A real story that affects real lives, _ousted by some bright pink poodles._

As Akihito death stares the moustached man and wonders how Shinotake can even _afford_ Cuban cigars on his wage - the man finally gives him a contemplative, perhaps even a little patronising, glance. Eyes laughing at the boy’s plight.

“Takaba, _lad_. You should realise how the world of news works. One minute the story you’ve scooped is relevant - the next minute, _‘whoosh’_ \- the guys involved have upped and vanished and we find something else to write about instead. Happens all the time, best not to question it and just move on. In this case, you can't prove anything - leaves us too open to trouble from lawyers, the cops.”

The bloated mans hands flail around and Akihito wonders whether it’s to act as some sort of metaphor for that statement or whether the man is actually getting as smoked out as Akihito is.

Since when has the guy worried about proof (of which by the way, there is fuck-tons of) or trouble from the law? A story is a story and the truth is the truth!

The young man rolls his eyes, sick of hearing that his stories aren't worth chasing, that this lead or that has gone missing, that he shouldn’t bother to look into it - Akihito has done his research, all of the crooked politicians, public figures or criminals that have appeared in one of his articles over the past six months have turned up missing after he had written about them and taken their photo’s before selling the story and he feels somehow responsible. That now history is repeating itself the same thing might happen to Kouyama.

This man certainly hasn't been helping that uneasy feeling with the elusive, odd explanations he’s been feeding Akihito. How can, for example - a story about an illegal multi million yen Arms deal by a corrupt military official to a questionable foreign political group be lesser news to the latest report on the fashion trend of crotchless pants - _‘Do’s and don’t’s: Is it ever acceptable to wear them to social events? Find out here!’_

Akihito is surprised that Shinotake bothers to tell him every time, like it’s the first time this has happened and like he's actually sorry for it - while he sits behind his cluttered, piled up desk and smokes, drinking boozy coffee from his novelty mug and belching practically every other word. He’s sick of it and he needs a break. He needs to find out what the hell is going on.

He leans forward slightly, hand slamming down on a stack of paperwork as he levels himself with his editor for a moment, sincere as he is set in his goal. He won’t give up so easily.

“You know there’s no way I can just ignore this-! I’m gonna get my scoop one way or another! I’m gonna get my photo’s on that front page - where they belong!”

The man stops, surprised for a moment before he smiles, chuckling slightly at the convincing sincerity in Akihito’s words, this kid always having a rather interesting, unique moral code and a work ethic that none at the the paper had really seen before he came along. He doesn’t lie, doesn’t stretch the truth for a story - to make it more scintillating for the readers. No. Shinotake can honestly say that this photographer, even whilst being so young - is already made of more metal than any man at ‘Daily News’ - maybe more than any man in this damn industry. He thoughtfully tokes on his stumpy Cigar a few times, contemplating.

This could certainly make things interesting.

“Have it your way then kid, do what you like - If you come back to me with a fully compiled report by end of business Monday I'll consider it again. But don’t come crying to me if you fall on down a rabbit hole and you can’t drag yourself back out again."

He takes one last drag, puffing circles of acrid grey smoke above him. 

Akihito is only stunned for a second at the granted permission, the last thing he would have ever expect - but he recovers quickly and announces that he’ll be taking a few days off to investigate, knowing that he’ll have to jump right on in at the deep end to get to the bottom of this mystery. Why is this happening? Why him? Why his stories?

He leaves the office and collects his bag - knowing already his next port of call. He’ll tail Kouyama, get this damn scoop or die trying. That’s if the old geezer hasn’t gone missing - just like the others.

The photographer arrives an hour later outside of the mans bustling city office, knowing that if he’s anywhere the man will be here until he starts his nightly routine of visiting the club, Dracaena in the Azabu district of Tokyo where his favourite hostesses work.

Akihito doesn’t go in there anymore - he had tried that a few times and the last time when he had _actually succeeded_ \- he shudders, the last time had gone very, very badly and he had been caught by the manager whilst casing out the joint with his mini-camera.To this day he doesn’t know how he had gotten out of it alive.

All he knew afterward was that he had woken up banged up, bandaged but cleaned up in his own bed at home. The only clue left with him the faint smell of spice, sandalwood and cigarette smoke lingering in his apartment.

That had been his very first story fresh out of University several months ago where he had studied Photography, the boy already having connections with some of the more colourful characters in the police force. A detective Yamazaki.

He had received a tipoff about human trafficking taking place right out of a prestigious club right here in Tokyo - somehow many female customers, all ranging between a certain age and with a certain look had been just vanishing from the club each night for many months - leaving their friends and family confused and scared, not being able to reach them on their cell phones either. The only real explanation at the time for the friends and family in a safe country like Japan was that the person must have had something come up or changed their mind and gone home without notifying their friends or colleagues - but that theory had been shot out of the water when even after the next day and that day after that - there was nothing.

They never heard from that person again.

The police had been to the club many times to try and get to the bottom of the matter, the disappearances far too fishy and far too many for them to be a mere coincidence. This is the last place all of the missing people have in common. They had tried raids, undercover agents - but they had come up empty each time. What they needed was someone completely unconnected to them - a fresh face on the scene. So it had been a god-send then when Takaba Akihito had shown up, looking for a lead from Detective Yamazaki.

It hadn’t been hard from there to get the kid a _member’s card_ for the club, money talks in that respect when the original owner had just agreed to only report it stolen the next day - Akihito waited in line, jittery from excitement and from the fresh scent of his very first story - that by all accounts should be huge and could help a lot of people.

He was let in the club with easily after flashing his card and he started by heading to the bar for a drink, best to blend in with his surroundings. He kept the camera in his shirt sleeve poised and ready, never knowing when a scoop could turn up right in-front of him as he asked for the cheapest beer on offer, turning back to the dance floor and recalling the brief he had been given and what kind of young women he should be keeping an eye on.

It’s wasn't long before a perfect target had made herself known, a girl that didn’t look a day over twenty, beautiful. Drunk. Stumbling across the floor towards the back of the club towards the toilets where the corridors split off into many the different routes throughout the Back of house. Akihito finished up his drink casually, slipping away from the bar to follow her as another man did the same - a blonde, attractive guy about five years older than he if he were to guess. Akihito kept his wits about him as he approached the back of house - seeking to blend in and stumble around if drunk which seemed to work, a little too well - for the blonde man had turned his attention on Akihito instead.

The next thing he knew he had woken up, sore, bruised and battered in a strangely bare room, almost like a basement or service area deep within the bowls of the club. He had clearly been searched - his jacket and pants lying to the side of the room and his trusty mini camera in pieces. He started to panic only to find his limbs tied, the blonde man laughing at his struggle.

“Shh, no point struggling. Trust me. Just keep quiet and I’ll make this as painless as possible for you.”

But Akihito had struggled and choked, fining it hard to talk with the gag in his mouth until he managed to wrestle it out with his tongue. Shouting abuse at the asshole who had cornered him outside of that security office.

“S-screw you! Whad’you want from me-!”

A swift kick to the face silenced the boy once more, Sudoh giving the order for his men to do what they like to the kid before he’s shipped off with the other girl from tonight. To his buyer in Europe.

The men rounded on Akihito’s prone, half naked body, the four of them eyeing his supple thighs, biteable lips and they all hustled for the first touch, taste of the fine young body before them. They pulled his legs apart after discarding his underwear completely and the first guy unzipped and lined up, getting ready to ram into the delicious, tight looking virgin hole, the perfectly round ass even as the door burst open revealing a _terrifying silhouette_ , a tableau frightening enough to freeze all in the room into place - _an image of angry golden eyes and black, cold steel._

He shudders at the memory of that night, can't keep track of how much time he has spent after just _wondering_ what must have happened and _how_ he had been rescued. He had rushed into the police station as soon as he was able - Yama-san and the rest of his contacts though totally ignorant and _oddly silent_ on the matter. Like everyone else had been. Like that whole case had never happened. 

In time, he just stopped asking. 

So now Akihito just settles for waiting outside the club, loitering across the street sat on the stone steps of a closed business while he awaits his target - the photographer catching a glimpse every now and again of what must be the _new Dracaena manager_ appearing and bowing, elegantly greeting important guests while he ponders on what ever happened to that other one, the blonde guy from that night.

While he stares into space, frowning, he almost misses his target appearing, Kouyama making it out of the club rather more cheerful, rosey cheeked and less steady than he went in - more thousands of Yen in taxpayers money down the drain in girls company and grossly overpriced booze no doubt.

Akihito crosses the street to tail the politician and his few guards as they walk the few metres away from the club to the limo parked in a dark area of the quiet road, most likely in a small attempt at playing incognito lest any reporters be hanging about. The one photographer on their tail sticks to the shadows though, the man hiccupping and regaling his men with the latest tales from this evening, the tone lighthearted as he fills them in on last minute changes to his weekend schedule.

“…And then after my three O’clock it’ll just be a case of getting to this blasted get-together of Asami’s he’s holding at Sion - he’s insisting I come for some reason though it’s damned inconvenient for me-!”

And with that they reach the car, his guards exchanging one last exasperated glance as their employer slides in and the engine roars to life. The car and it’s occupants speed off and leave Akihito’s mind reeling - Kouyama mentioned _the retreat_ , he’s invited - and Akihito has an invitation too! This could be a second chance at getting dirt on this rotten politician!

With that Akihito rushes back to his hiding place near the club and scoops up his belongings - heading home and hoping it’s not too late to RSVP.

As soon as he gets in the door and sheds his work gear, he plucks out his phone and Akihito’s unexpectedly shaky fingers dial the RSVP number as he reads it from where he had stuck it on the fridge. waiting with bated breath as the line rings on the other end, finally getting picked up by a stern voice after several rings.

“Hai.”

“H-uh, Hi. I’m calling ab-“

“About the weekend retreat, yes - to RSVP.”

“Y-yeah….U-I’m Takab-“

“Takaba Akihito, I know. Is that all?”

“Eh?-Uh, y-yeah…I, guess?”

“Fine, we shall expect you at seven pm _sharp_ , there are directions listed on the back of the invite card and any dietary requirements have been taken into consideration. You are to pack for a full two night, two day stay and as listed on the invite card, there are to be no electronic devices or photographic equipment allowed on the premises. You will be searched upon arrival.”

There’s a small pause as the bored sounding man takes a breath, and Akihito can only blink in bewilderment at the change in tone - the voice taking on a somewhat cheerful, hospitable edge.

“Thank you. We at the _Grand Sion Hotel_ look forward to welcoming you, _we hope you enjoy your stay_ —”

And with that the line goes dead, the person clearly disconnecting the call as soon as any professional obligations were met leaving Akihito to stare at his cell, silent and confused as he tries to digest everything from the last few minutes. So the invite _hadn’t_ been some kind of fluke, it _had_ been for him - the man on the phone had _known him, his name_. Had known he was calling to RSVP. _That he would RSVP._

Creepy. Creepy, but kinda cool!

Despite himself Akihito grins, his adrenaline junky soul practically whooping at this lucky turn of events, this guy, this Asami Ryuichi - intriguing him already with this air of mystery. Some rich old guy that seems to be inviting random people to some stodgy old hotel for the weekend for some party. _Weird_. Akihito knows this is probably bad news, and that this is his last chance to wash his hands of the whole thing. But this thrill, this rush that he’s feeling now - he lives for it. What if by cancelling he was to miss out on the big scoop he’s been chasing for months? What if he never does solve the mystery surrounding his cases and the disappearing scumbags? So, he chooses to pack for the get away tomorrow instead, of course packing all of the photographic equipment he thinks he can get away with - taking into account that he’s going to probably be frisked on the way in.

He carefully slices the inner lining of his duffel bag and slips in his small, covert camera, an extra cable for the remote shutter control and a couple of extra micro SD cards before carefully sticking it back together discreetly with some tape. From there he shoves in a couple of shirts, jeans and pairs of boxers, heading to the bathroom afterward to grab his wash bag, reminding himself that actually - a fancy hotel will probably have all of the toiletries he’ll need. Yeah, screw it.

Packing pretty much done with packing he showers and hits the sack, looking forward to his brand new adventure tomorrow.

**\- § -**

Finally, the train announcement sounds out in Japanese (and odd sounding English) that Akihito has arrived literally, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. He wishes now that he had put more thought into this, for starters that he should have at least glanced over the directions before this morning - before finding out that he had just two hours to make a three _hour at least_ journey to this godforsaken part of the country.

As the invitation had stated - It is _technically_ just outside of Tokyo, not in one of those backward, run down towns only visited by those hopelessly lost or crazy or anything as the hotel in question is located in one of the most exclusive Onsen towns in the whole of Japan - it’s just that the place, Sion, is only accessible by one of those painfully slow local trains - the ones that stop at every single tiny one-platformed train station. And from there it’s still a ways to go, a slow cable car ride to the lengthy drive leading finally to the hotel that sits on a mountain over-looking what seems, _like the entire prefecture_.

Wow.

When Akihito’s cable car finally approaches and the large manor hotel creeps into view his jaw drops in awe, the building is immense - beautiful with it’s European red brick and mahogany, it’s golden ‘Sion’ sign and the sparkling chandeliers visible through the well-lit windows and the whole place is so secluded, surrounded by acres upon acres of undisturbed wooded land. 

He glances as his watch when he steps out of the car, bag in hand and winces - seeing that it’s already seven forty. Damn. He walks the long way up the impressive drive, firelight guiding his way from the perhaps thousands of small torches lined up along it. Clearly no expense spared. He starts to feel a little underdressed and more than just a little foolish at coming here at all, what the hell was he thinking?! But not being one to back down he just gulps and keeps walking, approaching the ominously large doors with every step forward and finally reaching out a trembling hand to knock the wrought iron _snarling Panther_ door knocker, he shivers - wondering if the change in altitude is to blame for the sudden prickling feeling that’s creeping up his spine, that's making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

In his nervous musing, he misses completely the burning golden eyes watching him intently from the window at the very top of the manor, hot breaths puffing onto the hand crafted glass window pane as eager finger tips streak through the steam, keeping Akihito in perfect view.

The door opens on Akihito’s second tap of the door knocker making him stand to attention, the face that greets him not looking too amused as the man pushes his clear rimmed glasses up his nose impatiently.

“You’re late.”

“U-yeah, sorry ‘bout that I-um….uh…”

He trails off, not sure whether it’s even worth making up an excuse judging by the look he’s being given, laughing nervously instead and hand flying to the back of his neck in embarrassment and to calm the goosebumps. Kirishima, the head butler for this weekend _but really a man of many roles_ \- motions the boy in whilst holding back any scorching comments on his tardiness, or state of dress as he’s a guest after all. Instead he claps twice, waiting staff seemingly coming out of the woodwork to collect Akihito’s single duffle bag and jacket to whisk them away to his room while Kirishima gives him the grand tour of the building. The parts where guests are allowed to go. 

“….The other guests are currently enjoying canapés and Champagne in the drawing room, we have pushed back dinner to accommodate your uh, absence. When you arrive at your quarters, please dress for dinner and someone will escort you to the drawing room and from there, the great dining hall. Please don’t take all night.”

The man casually opens some doors and waves the contents of the rooms noncommittally to Akihito, who is starting to feel the weight of his appalling wardrobe choices for the weekend - he gulps again as Kirishima shuts the door on another room and he coughs nervously as he trots behind the man, speaking a little more timidly than he would like.

“Uh…” He says, insisting to himself that he is _not_ blushing. “I um, about that dinner…I didn’t…didn’t really bring anything to we-“

He starts but is cut of again as Kirishima turns to him abruptly on their way up the main staircase, the man pushing up his glasses again which Akihito really wishes he would stop doing. The man quirks a lip and nods slightly.

“Yes, suitable clothes for the banquet have been laid out in your room. Please wear them.”

With another minuscule nod he starts to make his way back up the stairs, leaving a gobsmacked Akihito behind - what the hell, A hotel that _provides_ fancy clothes for it’s guests? And oh, how did they even know his measurements?!

The undercover photographer follows on thoughtfully until they reach his room and he’s left in peace after one last warning not to take too long. He sighs and already looks forward to getting home on Sunday evening, thinking that this might be the longest two nights of his life.

He checks his duffel bag next, checking that his camera lay still intact and undiscovered within the confines of the lining fabric. It’s still there and that’s a weight off, knowing he hasn’t been rumbled yet and actually, it might work in his favour to have them provide a suit to wear - it’ll be easier to hide the lens in the sleeve as opposed to in the buttons of his own crumpled shirt like he had planned.

He casts his eyes around at that and lo and behold - there’s a fancy looking suit bag hanging on the outside of his carved oak wardrobe door.

He makes his way over to it from the the lavish, well embellished four poster bed and plucks the bag down to inspect the suit, unzipping it once it is too rested on the bed and gasping upon setting his eyes on the tag nestled amongst the collar - _Armani_. It’s not the label as such that impresses or awes him, Akihito never actually been one for these designer fashions and preferring his vintage jeans over a starchy suit any day, but it’s the thought - that fact that this stupidly expensive suit was brought for _him_ , that it’s just plopped in his room like this, for him to wear - like it’s the norm!

As it is it’s a beautiful suit, Akihito thinks - a deep red, classic slim fit Tux with a thin black tie - it’s like the person who picked it knows what suits him, his own somewhat unconventional style.

But either way, he supposes it fits with the interior at least.

He wastes no time in stripping off and donning the suit, a little embarrassed at how he’s smiling like a loser at his reflection - or at how messy his hair still is but at least he’s dressed and he remembers glasses guy’s warning not to take a long time so he heads for the door, exclaiming in alarm though upon coming face to uh - back, with some sort of giant.

“Ow, man!” He whines, rubbing his nose and glaring up at the vast suit-clad expanse of back as the man/mountain slowly turns to face the red faced (and suited) guest.

Akihito eventually calms enough to lower his hand, shifting nervously from foot to foot after some moments of silence when it becomes quite apparent that this huge guy isn’t going to do anything but stand there and blink at him.

“Oh I’m uh, ready when you are by the way, big guy….”

He shoots his cheekiest grin at the blond behemoth staring down at him but it finally seems to spur him into action and he nods once, grunting his understanding as he leads Akihito on down the hall to the grand staircase and further into the heart of the mansion - to the bustling drawing room.

The photographer pauses outside the door and does his last mental checks on his hidden equipment, the camera in his sleeve to the shutter control button in his pocket. He reckons that as it’s a fancy party he’s sure to have a drink in hand, at a perfect level to take discreet photo’s with the most natural of poses - for who is going to suspect a young man who is simply holding his drink and resting his hand in his pocket as he moves around the room?

Oh yes. This weekend he’s determined to get dirt on Kouyama and with any luck, will find out what’s going on with all the subjects of his scoops.

Before he knows it he is ushered forward through the huge doors that swallow him in, only to spit him right back out again into a room of such opulent elegance, such class that he can only gape like a fish out of water - thanking God that the host had been kind enough to provide him with a suit fitting the occasion after all, goodness knows what looks everyone would be giving him right now if he had been dressed as he had liked - in his beloved Levis and faded Tee. 

As it is, the looks these people are giving him as he makes his way slowly into the room are already pretty strange, so strange that he wonders if they do suspect him of having a camera on him after all. They all seem to be staring. 

A slight cough drawers his attention and he starts, noticing the people trying to get into the room behind him. He had somehow still been blocking the doorway in his stupor.

Akihito tries to (albeit nervously) laugh of the peculiar looks being levelled at him with a smile, nodding to the many men and women in the room, many that he indeed recognises from Television, film and of course - the tabloids. (Many of them actually being on his scoop ‘hit-list.’) He makes his way to the bar and shifts in his expensive suit uneasily, not liking particularly how the older mens and women’s eyes would rake over him, lingering on him for too long before finally moving on.

The undercover photographer retrieves a champagne from the barman and gulps it down for courage, soon after though lowering his glass as planned to scope out the room for any of the much needed money shots of misbehaving politicians or evidence as to just who is making his targets disappear. The young man ponders on the host, having looked up his name and asked around at the Police station where he frequents for scoops - both had been a relative bust.

Both, both the vast internet and those well-seasoned cops were only able to provide Akihito with only basic information on this Asami, they had only been able to tell him that he’s thirty five years old - that he’s an _entrepreneur_ , supporter of many initiatives and charities, advisor to the rich and powerful, but himself richer than perhaps even the Prime minister, the royal family and all of Japan’s other business moguls _all-together and above all_ \- that he’s an extremely modest, private person.

And Akihito thinks that sounds either _extremely boring_. Or way too fucking fishy to be real, or _legal._

Thinking on the possibility of being on the verge of making a major scoop he casts his eyes around for the man in question, though having to keep ducking them away when he meets a too intrigued pair of eyes here and there that’s focusing right back on him, which he finds, is happening with alarming regularity and he even begins to wonder whether he has something on his face - or in his teeth? Or worse, in his nose?! Now wouldn’t that just be bloody typical.

Just as he turns to the bar and lunges for one of the nearby champagne buckets to use as a makeshift mirror, there’s a sudden hush in the room cast by the opening of those grand double doors again, the blonde guard from before on one side and the other guy he recognises from earlier, the one with glasses and a dash of grey at the temples on the other.

The glasses guy clears is throat slightly into the deathly silence of the grand hall and announces, finally, the arrival of their host.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you this evening; our host - Asami Ryuichi-sama-”

Erupting all at once, there are collective gasps, cries of delight and applause from the eager audience as the much anticipated man of the hour enters the room, at least that’s what Akihito supposes what’s happening - if only he could see past this huge, hairy gorilla like guy with the fat head and garish suit that’s decided to barge in front of him!

He huffs, puts a curse on the huge-headed man and stands on his tippy toes, shuffling here and there trying to see past these asshats standing right in front of him and blocking his view to the middle of the doorway, whooping to himself after a long while when finally, he peeks past them all to see - The most _striking, most terrifyingly handsome man_ , well - _person_ , he’s ever seen in his life.

_W-whoa…._

Akihito gasps silently into the deafeningly loud room from where he lingers over by the bar, watching the scene, this man entering the room. It’s only a second, perhaps even less but there’s a moment - just one - where this mans - _Asami’s_ \- molten golden eyes seem to flicker to Akihito’s - _only,_ and linger, boring into them as if beckoning him and seeking him out, summoning him forward and down, down into this mans infinite abyss.

Time seems to stop.

Akihito can’t breath, can't hear as his heartbeat pounds in his skull as those eyes inexplicably paralyse him, burn him, scorch him and leave him feeling vulnerable, spread open and naked under that knowing, all encompassing gaze - and why does he feel like he’s seen those eyes before?

The photographers mouth opens, to do what, say what he doesn’t know but before he knows it - it’s gone, the man’s attention moving on smoothly, simply and suddenly as he greets his guests with an easy stance and a casual wave of the hand. The silence fades and the hustle and bustle of the room returns, time returning to normal after that - everyone bowing, cowering and simpering, like mere peasants before a king.

The photographer falters slightly where he’s stood, asking himself what just had happened, his heart pounding, body trembling with an unknown energy, adrenaline and shortness of breath that can’t be explained away by having a little too much to drink. He hasn’t had many girlfriends, not even had much experience with women at all - but there was something in the way that the man had looked at him with those golden eyes, the intent in them. There was something in the way in which that look had made Akihito's stomach tighten deliciously, how it had sent a shiver up his spine and had made him hot under the collar, and weak at the knees.

He feels like he needs some air. 

Some twenty minutes later, when Akihito comes back from the bathroom where he had splashed his face with of cold water and told himself to get it together - the guests are already filing unhurriedly through to the dining room for dinner, to another room that’s sumptuously decorated with a huge fireplace, long dining table and velvet draped windows. He joins the cue and tries to fit in, feeling embarrassingly out of his depth with these old coots and this strange host and he jumps, yelping when he feels a subtle yet unrelenting force at his lower back - a hand.

Turning and seeing, he blushes when it turns out to be none other than Asami himself, who had seemingly hung back to join the last of the group.

“Takaba, I’m glad you could make it. I do hope the room and clothes are to your liking…You look...”

Akihito starts when he hears what he thinks is some sort of growl from the man beside him, though Asami doesn't try to finish the sentence. Leaving silence between them for a moment.

"Yeah…"

Despite himself Akihito is lost for words, whether from the way his name had rolled off of this mans tongue so intimately - or at the shame at having worn the suit laid out for him like he were some kind of kept woman. Or scratch that, it could even be because of the large hand currently splayed at the bottom of his spine or the man’s breath hitting his ear, but he shivers. Regaining his senses though and dodging away from the warm hand soon after, nodding stiffly and thanking Asami for going to all the trouble for him and the invitation - the invitation that he would very much like to know by the way, _why and how_ he got in the first place.

“Oh yeah uh, thanks for that - I uh, I didn’t think to pack a suit or anything…”

He fidgets from the mans sheer closeness, feeling just a _tiny_ bit guilty about the concealed camera in his sleeve and he can’t help but bite his lip as he debates just how to ask, or even approach the subject of ‘hey I’m grateful for the invite old dude, but why the fuck am I here.’

He doesn’t notice that lingering stare, how Asami is watching him nibble at his bottom lip, making it plump and pink - almost enough to bleed. He doesn’t notice how the man licks his own lips slightly, how he undresses him with his eyes and notes every erogenous zone on Akihito’s body - wondering just how wonderfully sensitive this boy will be. Akihito does note though, again with some alarm, that hand that reacquaints itself with his waist once more, the one sliding down, dangerously near his ass.

Um. 

The photographer looks up at this _‘Asami’_ \- indignant, but again but words fail him for a moment when he catches the unexpectedly breathtaking look on the mans face, Asami looking down to Akihito’s eyes, his own glinting - something smouldering though just beneath the surface.

What the…..?

Akihito whips his head back around, blushing in his confusion, this hot feeling that’s creeping up, and down, from that small amount of contact at his waist line. He doesn’t know what to think, or do - utterly confused as to what he’s even doing, not telling Asami to piss off like he would to anyone else, reacting like this to this guy touching him so casually - as if it’s normal for one guy to touch another like this!

He jumps again when he hears the doors close behind them, Asami and he the last two people to enter the dining hall and the photographer observes the guests all finding their seats excitedly - obviously hoping to be sat near Asami or at least with someone of note. The young man hopes to break away too from this tension, from the eyes that he feels are reading his every thought, and move - but just as he’s about to tear away and high tail it all the way to the other end of the table, Asami’s deep, sultry voice stops him.

“Wait. You’re sat toward the head, this way…”

And he leads him to the right, indeed to the head of the table where Asami must be sat and Akihito huffs when he notices the place names proudly lining the grand spread at each chair, indeed an empty chair remaining next to Asami, on his right. But fuck, yes! - Kouyama and his wife on his left!

The host observes Akihito as he nervously, yet excitedly sits, allowing Kirishima to push in the boys chair before finally being seated himself as the expert waiting staff pour each guest a glass of the finest Champagne to toast with, which they do a few minutes later and Akihito just doesn’t know where to look as he hadn’t anticipated coming into contact with his mark this soon or quite frankly, this easily.

He fidgets with the remote shutter controller in his pocket as he tries to casually observe the old crooked politician and his primped and pampered wife, whilst trying to avoid Asami’s eyes on him - those knowing eyes making his tummy squirm as he finally raises his glass with the rest of the guests and toasts to yet another successful Sion retreat.

Akihito slumps into his seat, already feeling exhausted already from all the nervous energy bubbling below his skin and he gulps down more of his champagne as the aperitifs are served, making Asami cast an amused glance his way, Aperitifs being a small alcoholic beverage one has before a formal dinner - of which this boy has clearly not experienced before.

Shrugging at the small glass Akihito chucks that down too whilst the other, more distinguished guests sip as they talk amongst themselves about the decor, their fellow invitees or the host - even Kouyama and his wife having an albeit short, terse conversation about ‘mr snuggles’ being left at home for the weekend with a dogsitter and Mrs. Kouyama worrying about whether they left all the appropriate numbers incase of emergency.

Akihito is so engrossed in the unusual way this couple interact that he doesn’t register right away the slowly increasing pressure sneaking it’s way up his left leg, until he receives a squeeze at the fleshy curve near his crotch, making him yelp and draw more than a few people’s attention to him.

“Is there something the matter? Are you not feeling well?”

That’s the host speaking - innocently enquiring with an amused smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow even as his hand caresses way too-near the V of Akihito’s pelvis, his thumb playing circles around the fleshy part of his upper thigh and Akihito heaves out a heavy breath, a soft - barely audible moan at the feeling of being touched by someone else this way even as his brain screams at the wrongness of it all - he’s supposed to be working - undercover! Not sat here getting fondled by some man -!

He jumps out of his seat with a small yelp when Asami squeezes him suddenly through his dress pants, the boy looking like a madman and making more than just a few people laugh - even the host himself.

"S-sorry…"

He sits again, grumbling and finally squirms away with an adorable glare shot Asami’s way as his hand takes another swipe at Akihito under the table when the aperitif’s are cleared away - making way for the next course. The man withdraws his hand for now in favour of casually addressing a few people seated nearby and they bombard him with the usual drivel, compliments and the fluttering of eyelids and the young man just takes a few more sips of his drink.

Akihito feels hot, bothered, uncomfortable and he’s conflicted. What the hell is this? Why is Asami toying with him? Why does he want that man to look at him, just at him. Why does he want Asami to touch him again? 

Why is he thinking this way?

“Asami,” Kouyama manages in between chomps of perfectly cooked and marinated fish, “who’s this little thing here? I’ve never seen him at your side before…he’s new?”

The host takes a moment to place down his drink and he hums slightly, his own food untouched as he turns those eyes on Akihito once more - and Akihito insists to himself that he did NOT just feel a pang of something at that - he announces the boy’s name and occupation, understandably making all in the vicinity flinch and tense up, many pairs of beady little eyes flickering between them and lingering on Akihito with a blatant look of distrust, disgust and loathing.

Akihito can only glare once more at Asami and try in vain to defend his honour.

“He-he’s the one that invited me! And the invite said no Camera’s allowed anyway, okay? So chill-!”

He hurumphs and slams down his fancy cutlery, unwittingly flicking a nice big piece of Sea Bream right onto the lady next to him, the Actress Azumi Ryouko, making him wince and offer up a sheepish apology. Though what he actually does is spew out a stream of utterly nonsensical drivel and tries to wipe her chest off with his napkin - getting slapped away seconds later with a scandalised squeal from the beautiful woman.

He blushes out a small ’s'rry’ as he snatches his hands back and sips some more champagne to fill the silence and to try and also, keep something between himself and Asami as that hand finds his knee again and Kouyama narrows his eyes at him across the table. He can almost see the cogs turning in the mans corrupt little pea brain.

 _Takaba Akihito eh?_ The little shit that had tried to put his name in the paper just days ago? Oh yes, he had heard about that and he wonders why the hell Asami would have invite- _oh!_ Asami, that old fox, he must have invited the boy along for Kouyama to get rid of easily - of course! - Who would question an unfortunate accident during a simple weekend hotel retreat, a poor unfortunate lad having too much to drink and falling down the stairs - or out of a top storey window?

The man sniggers to himself and raises a glass to Asami as thanks, winking as those golden, all-knowing eyes twinkle with amusement right back at him. It’s good to have a friend like Asami, after all.

He carries on chortling merrily throughout the next two plates of quality cuisine and several hours, courses and _several more leg-gropes for Akihito_ later the guests are in a blissful state of relaxation whilst Akihito is now not only hot, bothered and irritable but also, what with the constant barrage of nervousness, annoyance and alcohol - he’s now slightly more tipsy than he should like to be - and the worst thing, he hasn’t even managed to question Kouyama properly at all.

 

He can't get a word in.

Oh the man _has_ talked, that's sure enough - through dinner Akihito has found out is that the man’s into golf, that he has no kids and he tells his wife that he’s at night school learning German, or at spinning classes most nights when Akihito knows already that he’s with other women. Pro’s.

He scowls at the old geezer as he finishes off his last glass of Champers and the dessert plates are cleared away, Asami’s plate of food yet again remaining largely untouched as he eyes Akihito like he’d rather eat him instead. The business men talk a of mundane business matters while the guests sip their post dinner sherry and Asami’s hand slips once again over Akihito’s sensitive knee under the table, tickling the flesh there and making the boy blink dazedly, looking confusedly at Asami through suddenly tired, squinty eyes - his head cocked slightly to the side. Shit, he groggily thinks - I really did have too much to drink huh, but this feels, _this feels…._

He hums to himself almost without any sound at all, his head lolling slightly side to side where without thought, his eyes make contact with Asami’s as the hand moves further north, sighing into the touch for a moment as Asami carries on his conversation beside him without a care. It creeps up his thigh even more and Akihito is about to try and slap it away again when - When it stops.

What. _The shit?_

 _Wait_. Why the hell is he disappointed?!

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please join us in the Drawing room for a selection of the finest European Cheese and wines, in honour of our new Hotel opening in London next month. Please also enjoy a special quintet performance from the London Philharmonic Orchestra which we have arranged for your listening pleasure….”

The guests start to clamber around, rising to follow Kirishima into the next room where soft music is already lulling the guests into the kind of relaxation that only this kind of luxury and opulence can evoke. The alcohol, the rosy hue of candle light, the slow, winding melody - it’s all enough to send Akihito’s mind into a bit of a daze. He knows he has a job to do, knows he should push to find out a little more tonight but - but he’s just so tired somehow, languid. _Hot._ He feels like he wants to be in a warm bathtub - no, stretched out on his bed naked. Bathed in moonlight, hmm.

He grins at the thought of imminent comfort and, eyes closed, attempts to rise from the table only to stumble into a pair of strong arms and a wide, solid chest. He somewhere in his mind, tries to stand and breakaway from the heat trying to seduce him and draw him in - insists he’s fine and tries to break away to walk on his own, unaided. But what he really does his sink into it, somehow exhausted, somehow pliant and eager and grateful for the hands that lift him, for the neck he nuzzles into blindly.

Asami turns to Kouyama and his wife, the pair already risen from the table but paused in their activity to watch the scene unfold - seemingly this mere kid, cant handle his drink!

“I believe Takaba Akihito is feeling unwell, I shall take him to his quarters -“

He nods to the husband and wife, turning as if to exit the room before Kirishima rushes over, bowing as he offers to take the young man in his masters stead.

“Oh Asami-sama please allow me-“

“No It’s not a problem, I would have you see to our guests instead. Kouyama-san could I please have your assistance with the doors, for you see my hands are full…”

Asami smiles slightly, quite innocently but Kouyama gets it and he all-out purrs, revelling at the inner workings of this mans deviant, evil - brilliant mind! No one will suspect a thing! He bares his teeth in a grin as he acquiesces, leaving his plump, unloved wife in Kirishima’s care and follows Asami across the room before reaching for the double doors with a flourish. All too happy to be subservient for a short while if it means the chance to rid himself of this bothersome young photographer.

They walk through the many dark, spacious halls lined with tapestries and paintings, only small slithers of light giving away the politicians increasing excitement at the thought of being rid of one of the biggest thorns in his side within the next few minutes, he works his little legs faster to keep up with Asami’s long, elegant strides as they turn a corner to ascend yet another staircase. Getting ever closer to Akihito’s secluded room.

“So? How’re we going to do it Asami? Out the window, down the stairs?”

Asami carries on ahead, glancing to the side eventually with the smallest of gestures to show he is listening.

“Hmm? Do what, Kouyama-san?”

The man laughs, that Asami - always so elusive! Well, is so happens Kouyama is in a jovial mood so he decides to go along with the banter for a bit longer - he knows Asami likes games too - it’s just like him to play dumb!

“Oh you know-” he winks as Asami looks his way for a moment. “How we’re going to get rid of our _‘little problem’_ here.”

He chortles as Asami comes to a stop by a large door, leading to one of the grandest suites in the hotel. He coughs slightly and Kouyama springs into action once again, opening the door with a relish reserved for only the most indecent of pleasures - noting that yes, this room indeed is very high up and that it should make for a very quick, messy - but certain death. _Perfect._

“Thank you Kouyama-san, I trust you can find your way back to join the party?”

\- Wait. What?

He stares up at Asami’s impassive, mooncast features - not able to hide his spluttering bewilderment at all. It takes a moment for the point, the message, to sink in - of course!

Of course they couldn’t off the boy now! Too obvious! No alibi! Asami had shown him where the room is so he can come back later! _Good one Asami, good one!_ So with understanding finally dawning on him and with a wink and single tap to the nose for his most gracious host, he turns and marches out of the room with a final nod and a small pep in his step. He’ll return later when everyone is sleeping, when the boy is sleeping - he’ll bring in some chloroform, and drug the boy into oblivion before he hurls him out of the window. Just a poor depressed, inebriated kid deciding that he just he can’t go on anymore. That’s all. 

He almost feels giddy, he knows this plan is going to go off without a hitch!

Once the man is out of site, Asami moves towards the elaborately carved four poster and places a grumbling Akihito down for a moment onto the mattress as he moves around the room to light some lamps, closing the door and locking it too. He doesn’t want anyone to disturb him. He moves back to the bed slowly, like a predator on prey. Leaning in close to huskily speak into the boys ear suggestively, while his own patented brand of sedative works it’s way around the boys system.

_“Akihito…?”_

It’s a long time coming but _so worth it_ when it does, a soft sigh - a sure sign that he can hear Asami loud and clear.

“Hmmm…?”

Asami swallows thickly, an excitement he hasn’t known before making him almost vibrate with excitement. This boy, this beautiful angel of a man - he wants to do such _awful, such disgusting, degrading things to him - he wants to defile him in every way_ \- _and he wants Akihito to love every moment of it_. But not right now, right now he just wants to taste a little. P _lay a little bit._

“Aren’t you hot, Akihito?”

Akihito moans lightly at his name, said like that and at the close proximity of those lips to his ear. That breath on his neck. He feels so comfortable, like melted butter or a cloud. But he knows he could feel much, _much_ better. It’s like the voice is telling him so.

“Don’t you want to take off those clothes Akihito? That stuffy, _stiff_ , suit?”

Akihito tries to squirm at the thought of the stupid scratchy old suit he’s been stuffed into like some old rat race salary man geezer, he grumbles as he feels it on his skin, wanting to feel like that cloud again, like caramel. He hums, trying to make the suffocating suit enveloping him just go away.

And piece by piece, it does.  
  
After Asami has removed that little wired up camera in Akihito's jacket, that is... 

Then. Laid out on the bed Akihito is undressed slowly and with great care, as if Asami is tracing every inch of pale, revealed skin with his hands and eyes. His suit jacket is carefully removed from under him, his tie is undone and gently eased away, his shirt unbuttoned down to the slacks before they too, are opened and slid down past his hips, legs and feet. Asami removes his socks, caressing those dainty feet - surely too pretty to belong to a man. He returns to the shirt, teasing the fabric past those rose-pink nipples and removing it the rest of the way before he reaches the boy’s waist, his underwear, sucking in a harsh breath when he finally allows himself to look at the treasure concealed below the thin fabric. The tip already trying to peek just out of the front.

Has he ever seen a body so wonderfully sensitive? He wonders what other treasures it’s hiding.

He allows himself to run a solitary finger along the soft pink skin visible as it unfurls and it’s so tantalising. The boxers are teased down Akihito’s hips as the boy breathes deeply in the comfort of the soft, assuring touches and the luxurious fur throw at his back - his mind awash with sensation, but nothing else.

Asami withdraws the pants completely, leaving Akihito - _his Akihito now_ \- completely naked and open to him, nothing withheld from his gaze. His eager eyes drink him in and he licks his lips, the urge to sink his teeth into that untouched, unsullied skin almost too much to bear. He slowly kneels on the bed, almost straddling Akihito’s feet and reached forward to caress his silky thighs and stomach, watching the muscles quiver indecently there.

He raises the boy’s long, pale legs up by the bend in the knee, bringing them up as he lowers himself to taste the first small precious pearl of precome pooled at the tip of the rigid, ripe cock - it sending his head into a frenzy. Akihito hums again as if annoyed at the fleeting touch and Asami doesn’t make him wait, tonguing the solid erection and nipping along it’s length, playing in the small slit and around the fleshy helmet head before running his tongue down and up, up and down. Tasting the delicious sacs hanging below.

A small sheen of sweat breaks out over the boys skin, but every sigh and every moan washes over Asami like a sonata and he can’t wait to see what Akihito would sound like in the highest ecstasy, _in sheer terror_ and it makes his blood sing. The beast in him _purr_. 

What would Akihito’s eyes, his face look like in moment of orgasm - if he were to choke the life out of him? If he were to watch every precious drop of the boy's blood bleed out of him?

He swallows Akihito’s cock and sucks hard, driven on by the fantasy and the thrill of having this perfect, utterly flawless creature finally in his clutches. He’s been dreaming of this for so long. Ever since he had laid eyes on the bleeding and broken boy in the basement of his club, all those months ago.

With a shudder Akihito comes down Asami’s throat and he drinks it down like a man starved, letting Akihito’s spent member go with a pop as it falls to rest against his stomach, quivering. He washes and dries Akihito, placing him with care onto the spacious bed and tucking him in. Uncharacteristically stopping to stare, threading a hand through the boys hair, once - twice, just like he had that time in Akihito’s own bedroom.

He wonders why this creature can inspire such unknown, unfamiliar feelings in him. Why he should have come to care for this boy who he had only observed from afar.

He leans down without thought, without knowing what he’s about to do but it’s as if for a _kiss_ but catches himself just in time, mere inches away from the boy’s lips. He stares, mesmerised by them, by the soft breaths exhaled and inhaled by them. He wonders, he asks himself if he could do it after all - whether he can make Akihito into a masterpiece like he had all the others - can he bring himself to do it - to him?

His hand creeps, creeps toward that milky white throat and sees the pulsing skin there, pulsing with life - life that before, he wouldn’t hesitate to steal away and take for his own.

Fingertips graze the skin and he marvels at how the slim, delicate neck fits under his hand so perfectly, he squeezes and feels that pulse, that steady heartbeat under his fingers.

This young man, _so alive_ \- _so brave and beautiful._

The thought arrests him and he lurches backward and away, stumbling out of the room from the sheer shock of emotion - the power of this steel fist clenching his heart. Of course he had eliminated all of those from before that had harmed Akihito - and will do the same now as he had planned - but that’s because he had just decided to claim him for himself, wasn’t it? 

It's because Akihito had seemed like a tragic beauty, one that he wanted to crown in thorns and watch bleed. To watch that pale, warm skin grow pale and cold. Wasn't it?

He's been telling himself, insisting that ever since he had walked in on that scene in the basement of his club that night, ever since he had set his eyes on that broken angel, ever since he had started to have him followed, photographed and had started to study his every move - his seemingly relentless thirst for life and spirit. Hadn't he done it because he had just wanted to take Akihito, to break him again and again, to use him to further the masterpiece that has been his life’s work? Yes. 

 _Yes, but_ \- but if that is true. If it is - then what is this overwhelming, debilitating feeling? The one that he cannot place or recall? The one that means he cannot even _bear_   _the thought_ of seeing this boy harmed? Even by himself?

He shuts the door behind him with an ominous click and greets Kirishima in the dark hall, pale and out of sorts. His emotions unbalanced and mind in turmoil. He rejoins the party to merely keep up appearances. 

 

 


	2. Murder Most Foul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, also sorry for any mistakes. x 
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Swearing, Yaoi, Murdery type themes.

**\- § -**

Three AM.

Kouyama hisses as he stubs his toe for the umpteenth time, the halls too dark and too cluttered with various artefacts for his journey through the mansion to be a smooth one. It takes a good twenty minutes to reach the Takaba boys wing and a further ten to get to the specific room housing him.

Chloroform and rag in the pocket of his robe, he tip toes to the door and checks the handle - almost whooping out loud when he feels it turn smoothly, the door opening silently. This is too easy! He almost pities the poor boy quietly sleeping in the bed like an angel, bright hair mussed and lithe limbs sprawled. Well, hopefully he’s having a good dream at least. The last he’ll ever have…

He stifles a hearty laugh, shaking his head and thanking his long time friend Asami, for making this all possible as he loads up the rag with the distinctive smelling solution, the chloroform bottle fastened and getting placed back in his dressing-gown pocket again immediately after. Kouyama tiptoes toward the bed. His arm reaches out, toward that soft, beautiful face - not that he’s fooled for a second - and he’s so close, almost there when there’s a small shuffle behind him.

_Oh!_

Oh, phew…it’s only Asami’s man, Kirishima, adjusting his glasses.

Kouyama sighs upon realising who it is. Asami must have, of course - sent this guy to help finish the kid off. He has been complaining to Asami for months about his poor back, after all.

He gives a short nod to the glorified Butler and turns back around when a soft, yet stern whisper stops him.

“Kouyama-san, I’ll have to ask you to stop what you’re doing and step aside, if you’d be so kind.”

_Eh?_

Kouyama processes the information and visibly bristles, turning back around to see if the guys is actually serious. Weirdly, it seems like he is.

“Oh?” He whispers back, drawing up to his full height of five foot four and wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas, surprisingly, some how, not intimidating the suited, five foot ten Kirishima.

“And why would that be?”

Kirishima allows a small bow before continuing to explain, a courtesy he must show all of Asami-sama’s guests, even the uh, less deserving ones.

“Asami-sama has deemed that Takaba-san is not to be harmed. Please return to your room immediately.”

He gestures toward the door in the dark room, face passive and still polite. Waiting. Kouyama just stares for some time, a vein visibly throbbing on the side of the his fat forehead and this time he turns completely around to face the man, this rude, bespectacled upstart who’s obviously having thoughts above his station! The politician wags a hairy finger in Kirishima’s general direction, moonlight making the mans face seem a little foreboding though, sinister - but it only rattles Kouyama more - the man puffing up his chest and raising his voice slightly, making Akihito grumble in his sleep and slap a fluffy pillow over his head, shivering as the soft white sheets slip down his naked body a little more.

“Look here, you! - Asami and me, we had an agreement! -“

A flash of light as Kirishima’s head turns sharply, the frame of his glasses catching the gloomy blue hue of the moonlight as it filters in through the large windows.

“Oh, really?”

“Y-yes-!” Kouyama challenges, swallowing thickly as the observes the faint slither of light falling upon the taller mans stern features. He starts to question his resolve - but only for a moment. “Yes, we decided to get rid of, of this boy, we had it all figured out y’see…”

There’s a pause as Kouyama holds his his breath - and Kirishima nods again, purely a social convention because well, facts are facts - and orders are orders. He does though, try to reason with the man one more time.

“Well, Kouyama-san. I’m afraid that even if that was the case, Asami-sama has changed his mind, as is his right. So, I ask you kindly, please return to your room immediately. I won’t ask again.”

There’s another pause, Kouyama’s chest puffing up like a pigeon in mating season as he takes a step away from the bed where Akihito still lay sleeping. The chloroform soaked rag still clutched in his sweaty hand. He falters under the hard, silent stare, a creeping sense of foreboding sending shivers down his spine - all the little hairs on his body standing to attention, some feeling of wrongness, danger, making him glance toward the door for escape.

His eyes dart back and forth, heart racing, hands sweating, he doesn’t feel the cloth slip from his hand.

“….And…” He gulps. “And, if I don’t?”

“…”

Kirishima merely smiles, still polite, still neutral as he adjusts his glasses slightly. Another small nod.

“Then, you will be removed.”

Kouyama’s breath quickens, pupils contracting - he feels ice cold as he sees those merciless eyes on him but there’s something in this man’s cool indifference, arrogance, that’s really rubbing him the wrong way. But he has to moisten his mouth before he can speak again, the high timbre of his voice and slight tremor completely calling his bluff - his mind starts to insist he just throw something at the man and make a break for it.

“Well….” another gulp “….I’d, um….I’d like to see you, try.”

Silence. Kirirshima’s lip quirks.

“Very well.”

 

 

**\- § -**

 

“ ‘m coming-!”

Akihito rushes out of his suites’ spacious bathroom, hastily pulling a large fluffy white towel around himself as he goes, the photographer having woken up much later than he had intended - but then again, this whole thing isn’t off to the start he had intended either, after apparently getting wasted, leaving the dinner party early and waking up naked in the huge, luxury bed just moments ago but thankfully alone, because the worst thing is, he can barely remember anything from last night at all.

He reaches the door, opening it and clutching the towel to his still damp body as he comes face to face with a stony faced Kirishima, greeting the man with a small, surprised ‘oh’ as he wordlessly takes the crisply pressed pile of clothes that gets immediately passed to him.

“Um, what’s-“

“There will be a clay pigeon shooting event this morning, please dress into the attire provided and join the other guests in the breakfast room in the East wing as soon as possible.”

Akihito nods, looking down to the scratchy bundle of fabric in his arms and raising his chin to frown at the spectacled man a little - are his clothes that offensive that his host feels the need to dress him this whole weekend? _Well fuck him! That posh, judgemental, snobby old_ \- As if reading his mind, Kirishima smirks, adjusting his glasses to subtly cover it.

“Asami-sama has graciously provided all guests with attire for this mornings activity, to prevent any damages to guests own clothes - as we will be partaking in an outdoor activity and there was a light scattering of rain during the night. I would hope, that you won’t make a fuss and offend your host.”

The statement makes Akihito bristle slightly, the guy obviously assuming Akihito is some sort of spoilt brat who will make a scene over the smallest little thing, though to be fair the making a scene part is pretty much spot on as he probably would have, what with getting a free outfit pushed on him again like his own clothes aren’t perfectly good-e-bloody-nough. But that - he supposes - is a fair point, there were rain drops clinging to the glass panes of his suites large windows this morning, so perhaps the grounds will be a little muddy after all. And he’s always having to throw out his jeans and jackets because the grime never quite comes out from where he's been rolling around in the first trying to get the perfect scoop.

Ok, he’ll go along with it - today. But this is the last time!

He nods, Kirishima seemingly satisfied with the response and handing him a tall pair of tall Wellington boots, letting the boy know to come down to the Dining room when ready. He turns and leaves down the corridor without waiting to be dismissed leaving Akihito to stare after him in silence. Wondering what’s in store for him today. Last night had been in the least, weird. Akihito had woken up this morning feeling so relaxed, despite how drunk he had undoubtedly been and also, despite his foggy memories of those eyes, the champagne, soothing music and that groping hand at the table.

The photographer closes the door and heads to set the clothes and boots in the appropriate place to dress into in a moment, after finishing in the bathroom, from where he had been looking at a peculiar mark on his body. This mark had appeared over night, he supposes - because really, day to day Akihito can’t really say that he spends that much time looking at his thighs, at the juncture between his hip and groin but the mark is such an angry red colour that it caught his eye, like lots of little capillaries had somehow just burst under the skin - oh, maybe he had knocked into something last night? Something that had hit him certainly too close for comfort, way too near his balls! Ouch.

But, now he puts the mysterious mark and the lack of recollection from last nights proceedings out of mind while he brushes his teeth, runs a quick hand through his almost dry hair and rushes to get changed into the tight fitting tweed suit provided for him and giving himself a quick once over in the mirror, supposing that he must look how he’s supposed to and taking the new Wellington boots over to his bed to wrestle them onto his feet.

He takes a deep breath, taking the mini camera from it’s place on the night stand - but noting how neatly he had coiled the cables and set it out it the night before even when he had been so obviously pissed as he threads it through todays outfit, and with that he’s good to go.

But when Akihito arrives in the dining hall for breakfast, it seems that there’s an undercurrent of tension throughout the guests at his arrival. Asami absent for now.

“…ugh, still here…”

“ He should just go away……”

“…even doing here…..?”

“…such an eyesore….”

Akihito takes a seat at the head of the table, his place name in the same location as the night before, that much he remembers though now, the two places opposite him are empty, the two places that should be holding both Kouyama and his wife.

As the investigative journalist sits down the room seems to take notice and the energy transforms, the temperature seemingly dropping a few degrees as many eyes turn to him accusingly, suspiciously - whispers taking on an urgent, scandalised cadence until the doors open once more, hushing all in the spacious room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience - Breakfast will be served now.”

Kirishima bows as Asami strides past him into the room, looking suave, sharp and well rested with a small smile gracing his features, features that Akihito cant help but again feel he knows from somewhere. The man takes a seat next to Akihito as usual and gestures to his staff to immediately serve the food, platters and plates appearing as if from thin air and being set down on the table before the guests noiselessly, piping hot and fresh from the hotels Michelin standard kitchens.

Akihito’s tummy rumbles as he takes in the sight, drawing the attention of the host - the other guests now cooing over the bountiful feast before them.

Asami leans on the table slightly, talking only to his favourite undercover photographer.

“Takaba, I trust you slept well - I hope the room is to your liking. It’s our best, and most private, suite.”

The photographer starts slightly at the peculiar phrasing as he spoons steaming scrambled eggs onto his plate, that molten voice stilling his movements and arresting his breathing for a moment. And is it hot in here, cold in here? Why does Akihito suddenly feel a shiver tingling it’s way down his spine? As if he had been dreaming of that voice last night in all it’s silky, seductive glory.

His eyes dart to Asami’s own for a guilty moment, looking away before the elusive host has a chance to read Akihito’s mutinous thoughts and he finds himself blushing, fumbling as he tongs some grilled meats onto his plate to avoid Asami’s all-knowing eyes completely. What is it about this guy that makes him feel so out of sorts?

“Great thank you, and listen….” He says, darting a look to a mildly curious looking Asami, “sorry if I got, y’know, a little drunk last night - if I said anything weird at the party. I can’t quite remember and uh, my friends well, they tell me I do the weirdest stuff-! So uh, yeah…sorry...”

The boy laughs, plucking up his cutlery and taking a generous bite of a juicy, salty piece of Gammon steak and guessing that apology would be enough to make amends for any dancing, singing, crying or stripping that may have possibly occurred last night. Unaware of how Asami is watching those cherry lips, those teeth tear into the pink meat, how a little dribble of fatty oil drips it’s way down it and onto the boys chin. Begging to be lapped up.

He settles for reaching out, dragging a thumb painfully slowly over Akihito’s lip, chin - catching the shiny oil and marvelling again the feel of that skin under his hand. The warm, thick liquid feeling almost, almost like blood under his thumb and he feels himself growing hard under the table.

“-wha-?”

Akihito jerks away after a moment of stunned silence, caught by the obscene, wild look in this mans eyes which makes his heart race, his blood pumping around his body and to his mortification - makes his belly throb too, jolt with a spike of unknown arousal, like nothing he’s ever felt before.

He can’t help but gasp when Asami withdraws his hand slowly, as cool as ever and licks the oil covered thumb and they stare at each other in silence, all sound once again escaping Akihito as the guests chat happily amongst themselves over their food, Asami’s eyes boring right into his - the boy helpless to look anywhere but right back, getting sucked into the abyss once more.

He lets out a trembling breath, cutlery still held in shaky hands on either side of his plate - exhaling on a whimper -

“Asami-sama.”

And the spell is broken, Kirishima appearing to Asami’s left to announce that breakfast is over and the shooting party is about to begin on the East lawn. Akihito looks around, startled at the passage of time and at his own helpless reactions whilst in this mans presence and he can’t help but drop his knife, fork and clutch the tweed of his trouser legs - trying to distance himself from the raging surge of adrenaline coursing through his system. He feels like he needs to leave, run - get the fuck out before something happens, something he feels that’s inevitable. irreversible.

Asami and Kirishima have a hushed conversation beside Akihito, something about a phone call from the Prime minister though he’s completely blind to it, only regaining his senses as the man rises and places his napkin on the table, slightly nodding to the guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me some business has come to my attention that I must attend to. Kirishima will be escorting you to the grounds shortly.”

And like that he’s gone, leaving Akihito and many other guests to stare after him as he walks smoothly out of the room - most watching either those broad shoulders, that taught behind. Akihito just gaping at the back of the mans head as if trying to figure out the motives behind the past few minutes, what had happened at this very same table last night. He blindly rises from the table when Kirishima announces that it’s time to go, though stopping short as the two empty places catch his eye again.

He hastily leaves the table, shoving past other guests to reach the glasses guy - desperate to find out where his target has gone.

“Hey -mr-!” It feels rude to shout ‘glasses guy’ so he settles for a silent, goofy smile as he approaches instead, accidentally tripping and knocking into the slightly taller long haired guy in front who immediately turns, outraged and glaring down at Akihito. He hears him mumble under his breath in some foreign language as he hastily apologises and finally turns to Kirishima.

“Hey um,” he pauses, realising that it’s actually none of his damn business what’s happened to the old crook and his wife, so he just hopes this guy is in a good enough mood to tell him. “So, Kouyama and his wife um, it’s a shame I haven’t seen them this morning. Are they around?”

Kirishima doesn’t miss a beat, nodding guests out the door as he answers Akihito succinctly, dismissively.

“They had something important come up, and are no longer with us…”

And he nods and bows, now ignoring the investigative journalist all together and leaving Akihito to stare up at him thoughtfully. He supposes if they’re no longer at the hotel, then there’s no point in him staying any longer.

“So they went back to the city then?”

There’s a small pause. Kirishima’s lip lifts, just slightly.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I wouldn’t know.”

Akihito nods, eyes wide. not convinced.

“…Uh, huh…”

He backs away a few steps as Kirishima politely sees the rest of the guests out the room but gets jostled and herded along with them as they head outside, imagination running wild, his journalistic senses tingling. There’s a story here - he knows it!

 

 

**\- § -**

 

Another clay disc explodes into pieces mid air, whoops and applause of awe and appreciation echoing around the grounds as the guests observe how Asami shoot's his gun. The man as good at this as everything else.

There’s only a couple of people present that aren’t enthralled in the show; Akihito, who is studying his surroundings through squinted eyes, and the person studying him - or rather scowling at him.

“Oh Asami-san, that was superb, superb!”

"Simply marvellous!" 

 

Some tall, beautiful woman and her chiseled husband steps forward as Asami hands his shotgun to Kirishima to be reloaded, the man having blown everyone out of the water so far what with hitting every shot without missing a beat. It was Akihito’s turn to learn next - the Host once again insisting to remain just that little bit too close to him throughout the whole of the morning meaning Akihito hasn't had his waist to himself all day.

A whole hoard of pretty females joins Asami and the others, just as Akihito takes the unfamiliar firearm in hand, lining it up and aiming to the sky under Kirishima’s stern instruction though hearing the overly sugary sweet, sickeningly simpering from the guests behind him all trying to gain favour with Asami. 

“As usual Asami-sama, you put us all to shame!-“

"Do I need to tell you how handsome you look in that shooting outfit? And those pants-! Scandalous!" 

 

“Asami-san, thank you again for the invite, now if I can just ask you….”

Akihito tries to block it out as the first clay pigeon flies, the photographer missing the disc by a mile of course. He grumbles under his breath as a new, masculine voice joins the party behind him. Talking in slightly accented Japanese.

“Asami, wonderful as usual…” a pause as a deceptively strong hand runs its way up Asami’s bicep. “we should really have shooting competition, one of these days…” another pause as the hand moves back down the suit clad arm, and onto a strong, broad shoulder. “Hm, well, today’s as good as any, right?”

There’s a moment of silence in that area of the lawn as the raven haired man tries his best to woo Asami with soft touches and sharp, glinting eyes, the ladies happily watching the two handsome beauties before them and thinking up fantasies of their own. Akihito just snorts upon hearing it, such obvious, cringeworthy flirting which, by the way, seems to be falling on deaf ears - judging by the lack of response.

He’s about to shout ‘pull!’ again when suddenly there’s a series of scandalised gasps behind him, followed shortly by two large hands resting on his shoulders. He can feel hot breath hitting his sensitive earlobe. 

“You have to hold it tighter, like this,” that voice whispers almost sinfully, and Akihito has to remind himself where he is, or what he’s doing, “tuck the butt of the gun against your shoulder, good…”

Asami gently adjusts Akihito’s grip on his weapon making him stutter and squirm, feeling dozens of eyes bore into the back of his skull as if hoping to shoot a hole clean through but he focuses on the task at hand none the less, as he may as well have some fun after all, even if he has got a job to do. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little competitive when it comes to sports.

_What-_

_What the-?_

_That little -_

_That little slut!_

Liu FeiLong is fucking. _Livid._ Looking not even five metres away at this scrawny, bleached nobody and how he’s totally flirting with his Asami. Probably pressing his flat little behind right into those rock hard thighs, daring to stand that close, daring to talk to, to laugh with his Asami - who he had decided to lay claim to all those years ago. Oh yeah, FeiLong is fucking pissed alright.

Seven years, seven fucking years he has been painstakingly trying to wear Asami down, to make him his and finally claim all of the spoils of war that would come along with capturing the most eligible man in all of Asia. He had begged, borrowed, murdered and stolen to be here and he will be _damned_ if now some little _twink cunt_ were to come waltzing in and steal it all. I mean, seriously right - who the hell is this Takaba Akihomo anyway?

All FeiLong knows, is that if he dares even _touch_ Asami one. More. Fucking. Time. That. Is. Fucking. It!

He did, _he just fucking did._

He’s. DEAD!

So, thinking quickly, FeiLong charms and smiles and does all that comes naturally to him after a life of being groomed to be the charming, deadly leader of Baishe - the biggest underground organisation in China and it’s for that precise reason that Asami had not invited him to this weekend retreat, the man sighing tiredly when he had learned of the last minute murder of two of his esteemed guests in due to FeiLong in order to allow both his and his right-hand-man’s admittance.

The right hand man, that actually works for Asami. 

 

But, here he is and up until now it had looked hopeful, Liu FeiLong had held out all of these years on the wish that his prayers be answered and the great Asami Ryuichi fall for him once and for all. But this _little shit_ , this _upstart_ who has come out of freaking no where is single-handedly destroying any chance with Asami that FeiLong has got! Well there’s only one thing for it - the kid has to go.

And it’s only minutes later, as the next shooter steps up - that FeiLong gets his chance.

Sending his man Yoh, he asks that Akihito be lured to a quiet area of the grounds where he will be most brutally and mercilessly murdered while FeiLong innocently sips tea and enjoys scones and fresh cream with the rest of the party and job done, he comforts Asami - they bone. Happily ever after.

The Chinese man laughs wickedly to himself as the poor little Akihito is lead to his doom with the simple promise of getting some damning information on their host from Yoh. 

“…So? Why’d we have to come all the way to the lake?”

They stop in a small clearing, mosquitos and flies quietly flitting from tree to tree in the lazy afternoon sunlight. Akihito curious, Yoh unreadable.

“You said you had some good dirt on Asami, spill it or I’m heading back.”

Yoh nods stoically, his eyes barely visible under his long bangs leaving a great air of mystery about the man. If Akihito were any less of a man himself, he would have refused to go off alone with such a weird seeming guy, but hey - this might turn out to be a lead and he can’t afford to be picky now, can he?

“Yes, you’re right. Concerning Asami….”

“Yeah?”

“He…”

“He….” there’s a pause, neither one really appearing to breathe, “he, what?”

“He doesn’t…”

Akihito is on tender hooks, the young photographer wondering if he should have set his little camera to video mode before coming over.

“He doesn’t-?”

"He doesn't…."

Here it is, Akihito can tell it’s going to be something huge - insane, it could break the ca-!

“He doesn’t like sweets.”

_Eh?_

“Wai-….Huh?”

And still Akihito stares, Yoh as unreadable as ever. As still and stoic as ever, no sign of humour visible even with the nonsense he had just said.

“Care to repeat that, Yoh-san?”

Yoh nods once, a small breath and here it comes again. Though it doesn’t make any more sense even upon hearing it a second time.

“He doesn’t like sweets, hates them in fact.”

“…”

There’s silence. Akihito processing this utter waste of time, also wondering if this guy’s all there. He suspects not.

“And, and that’s it?”

He drops the remote control in his pocket, this is certainly not the man that’s going to break the case for him. He’s back to square one. Sighing, he crosses his arms and cocks a hip slightly, closing his eyes in exasperation and about to verbally pummel the guy but there’s suddenly an almighty scream, a shrill horrified cry echoing through the grounds.

Akihito takes off running before he even realises. 

“Oh my goodness, how awful-!”

“What a tragic accident-!”

“How could someone so beautiful die?!”

The two men happen upon the scene, Akihito’s face registering all of the shock, horror and tragic compassion that assaults him upon seeing the bloody remains of what looks like that good looking Chinese guy from before, though it’s kind of really hard to say, what with his head missing and all. Akihito looks around for something, anything and sees a young starlet he recognises nearby crying hysterically and clutching her phone to her chest, prompting the quick thinking photographer to pluck it from her hand with a mumbled ’s’cuse me!’ before phoning the police. Though of course, being a investigative journalist himself (though unofficially as of yet) taking some photo’s of the scene and surroundings himself.

He knows photo’s never lie.

 

 

**\- § -**

 

The last of the witnesses arrive back in the large lounge, all having given their statements to the police who had arrived several hours ago, everyone exhausted and run ragged after the days events. All apart from Asami and his men, who look as unruffled as ever. The man himself currently lounging in a chair and swirling a rich amber coloured Scotch around his glass, pausing to sip and savour the vintage drink every so often.

The scruffy detective arrives back in the room and casts a hush over the occupants, Akihito still clicking away covertly on his little camera.

“So, as you all know we had an incident in these grounds at around about three PM today, where one twenty seven year old Chinese citizen Liu FeiLong was shot and fatally wounded-“

“Wounded?! His bloody head’s off!”

Someone shouts out, though they are quickly shut down by a mere look from Asami, whose eyes beg silence from his guests and nothing else. The notorious bearded club owner falls mute immediately, not wanting to anger the host anymore than he has with his overzealous outburst. The detective coughs slightly and continues.

“There's nothing to worry about folks, he was shot and killed by some sort of high velocity bullet. We have confiscated all of the guns from your earlier shoot and will try to obtain a match. I’d like to thank all of the witnesses for their cooperation. We are sure, given Asami-san’s upstanding reputation that this was just some unfortunate accident, and we will be gone before you know it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And with that he looks darkly to Asami, who acknowledges him by well, not acknowledging him at all - choosing instead to motion to Kirishima that it’s time to serve a late supper so the guests can finally head to bed. Meanwhile Akihito rushes over to the detective, who is keenly eyeing up the choice of liquor at the bar.

“Hey, Yama-san-“ he whispers to the detective, trying to make out that he’s interested in collecting a glass of bucks-fizz, “about the guy today, can you tell me how it happened? Any leads?”

The man takes the drink from the bar tender almost reverently, what with his wife not around and all, tonight he can drink as much as he likes and not be pestered. He gulps half the glass in one, followed by a few more short sips before he lets anything other than the old fashioned have his attention and motions to the barman for another before turning to Akihito slightly to finally answer the question.

“Any leads? Are you joking? Anyone here could have wanted that Triad kid dead but we can't even find the weapon. Nope, this is going to take a while and no one’s going anywhere. I’m gonna nail that sonnova’-“

“-but,” Akihito starts and cuts in, something obviously doesn’t add up, “are you not saying that a shot gun could have uh, inflicted those injuries then? Taken his head clean off? If it was a high velocity bullet like you said, then why confiscate all of the shotguns?”

Yama-san’s widened eyes dart from the newly arrived drink and back to Akihito, he didn’t realise he had said that bit. Damn! He knows this Asami character is into some dodgy shit, arms dealing, probably drugs and goodness knows what else - he just needed a way in, and this kid had given it to him. He just needs to not make himself seem suspicious, but then he had to go and say _that_ in front of everyone! He needs to make out like he’s investigating this murder, nothing more, he needs to not let Asami catch on that he’s onto the man. That he know’s this type of gruesome death was caused by nothing short of some sort of modified rifle - intended to cause devastating injuries and certain death.

He needs to play it dumb from now on. Tread carefully.

“Forget what I said kid, if I were you.”

He turns back to the bar when suddenly an idea hits him, that he could use this kid - it wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly wont be the last. He can get him to tail Asami around the building, eavesdrop, find out what the devious bastard has planned once and for all and all in a way that can’t be traced back directly to him. He should do it now, while he knows the man is occupied.

He carefully catches Akihito’s eye, who is ruefully stood next to him, sipping his drink.

“Hey kid, you know that you owe me right?”

The photographer stares, curious.

“…Um, I guess?”

“Good,”

Detective Yamazaki casts a beady eye to the left and right, the coast appears to be clear. Now’s the time!

“I have a story for you, this could be huge, the biggest - all I need you to do-“

“I see that you two are somewhat acquainted. You know each other?”

They spin around, startled at the sight of an amused Asami behind them, still with a drink casually in hand which he finishes before setting down on the bar, and lighting a cigarette instead.

It’s a full few seconds before he exhales, a long stream of smoke wafting above Akihito’s head as he surveys his favourite guest.

“I hope Yamazaki isn’t bothering you, Akihito?”

The use of his first name like that makes him shiver, Yamazaki’s accusing stare at this show of familiarity forcing him to blush and splutter in denial, he doesn’t know where Asami gets off on teasing him like this! Why him?!

He scowls up to Asami, the twinkle of humour in his molten eyes making him somehow elated, furious and horny all in one and he wants to stomp on the mans foot, punch him in the face, stomach, anything that will break this weird and wonderful spell that the man seems to have cast over him. He settles for blowing a raspberry instead. Making Asami laugh in a way that shoots right to Akihito’s cock.

Yamazaki is outraged.

“Detective, I hope you won’t bother my guests anymore than you need to. I’d hate for it to cause any, ill-will, between us…”

He takes another drag of his cigarette, slow and leisurely and Yamazaki can’t help but wait eagerly for the day where he sees that smirk wiped off this mans face and see him locked away in a filthy cell, forced to play someones bitch.

The detective shakes his head with a wry grin, knowing his has to play it cool, bide his time and eventually it will happen - he just needs to use this kid to do it. He knows all about Asami’s sick tastes, knows now from the way the man is devouring the Takaba kid with his eyes, how his tongue darts out to wet his lip every so often like he can’t wait to taste him. Sick bastard, maybe he already has. Or maybe, maybe these two are in it together…

He casts them both a look if suspicion, before slowly backing away - ready to think of a plan B now that Asami seems to be onto him.

“If you’ll excuse me…gentlemen….I just, need to uh, make a call.”

And like that he’s gone, Akihito and Asami left to look after him for a moment as he disappears into the crowd enjoying their buffet supper of cold meats, sandwiches, cake and tea and chatting merrily amongst themselves, the horror of today - forgotten.

And that reminds Akihito, to ask about something that’s been bothering him all day.

“Asami,” he starts, drawing the hosts eyes to him once more, fortifying himself against his own treacherously eager reactions at having this mans attention solely on him, “I’ve been wondering, Kouy-I mean, that old couple I was sat opposite last night at dinner, did they leave already? It’s just | haven’t seen them today, that’s all.”

Asami nods mildly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out, he looks positively unruffled and unconcerned as he answers Akihito’s question.

“Yes, they departed during the night. They mentioned you as they left, as a matter of fact.”

_Wha-_

“Eh, they - they did?!”

Akihito says, flabbergasted - wait, did they tell Asami all about him trying to take Kouyama down? Shit, is he in trouble now - does Asami know that he just came here to snoop?! He laughs nervously, hand at the back of his neck to relive the sudden tension there, missing how Asami observes him fondly and motions for two glasses of fine champagne to be poured out - though with a minute shake of the head as the barman produces a little vial of crushed white powder, he won’t need it tonight.

“Here Takaba, champagne.”

The boy blinks stupidly, accepting the elegant glass with a small ‘thanks’ just out of the good old fashioned sense of Japanese obligation, though he doesn’t see what they would be celebrating now to merit this fancy French drink given the events today, it just feels a bit wrong.

He smiles up at the man cheekily. 

 

“Don’t you ever, I dunno, just want to drink a beer or something? Kick back and relax?”

Asami quirks an eyebrow as he plucks up his own champagne off the bar top, considering it for a moment before seemingly reaching a decision and taking the glass from Akihito’s smaller hand to place them back down on the polished wood again, motioning now for two cans of Kirin beer instead which Akihito takes with a giggle, passing one to Asami and gesturing to ‘kanpai’ - and Asami does with a smirk. There’s a welcome, familiar hiss as the ice cold cans are opened and gulped down, the younger of the pair pausing to let out a satisfied hum.

“Mmm, that’s better, right?”

He laughs, leaning against the bar and observing how Asami enjoys his own drink.

“You look weird in a suit drinking beer, do you ever let loose - lose the jacket and roll up your sleeves or something? Or are you scared of the creases?”

He laughs, not seeing the way Asami’s eyes flash, how he bares his teeth for a moment. He leans in, just close enough to catch Akihito’s tantalising scent, his heat. He speaks lowly into the boys ear, pink from laughter.

“Oh yes, I’d be happy to show you just how I like to let loose. I’m sure you’d like _that_ particular way too.”

Akihito gasps, sure he’s not missing the meaning behind that suggestive phrasing and he can’t help but shiver - his lips parting on a shaky exhale for a moment before he regains his senses and is able to shake it off somewhat - But before he knows it, he’s hit with another blow, when that pair of lips brush his earlobe and speak seductively into his ear. Making him whimper.

“I would love you to show me, _just how you like to let loose. Akihito._ ”

He closes his eye for a moment, the scent of this man’s cologne, skin, this heat and feeling - utterly assaulting his senses, making him think stupid things, making his heart race. He feels like his legs will give out at any moment and he gulps. Not being able to hold Asami's heated gaze. 

“sorry. I don’t feel so good, I’ma, I’ma go to bed, see ya Asami….thanks, for the drink.”

And so shakily, he sets the almost full beer down on the counter and accidentally brushes past Asami on the way out, just that small amount of contact with his body enough to set his skin alight to a whole new level. He knows he’s hard, isn’t sure just when it happened but he can feel it pressing into the front of his pants and he would have the decency to be embarrassed about it if it wasn’t for his shaken senses or this throbbing, low in his belly.

He numbly stumbles out of the room, past all of the other guests that are looking at him with the same disgust and disdain as usual but he doesn’t see them, he’s not capable of noticing or caring right now and to be honest it’s all paling in comparison to this need and want that is taking over his whole body. He just knows that he needs to get to his room, right now.

He shuts his suite's door behind him after the long and silent journey through the hotel, quiet bar his own accelerated breathing. His chest heaves as he leans against the door and uncontrollably excited, he touches himself through the tweed pants like he just can’t take it anymore. He opens the buttons with fumbling fingers and lightly teases up and down his length through his boxers, increasing the pressure impatiently but still finding himself wanting, and unsatisfied. Groaning in frustration.

He stands there for a moment longer, thinking that he may finally be calming down but as his mind wonders it drags him right back to Asami, making his heart race somehow with this new, alien feeling and he finds his legs can’t support him anymore, so he moves toward the bed, stripping as he goes.

By the time he gets there he’s naked and he lies on his back, spread slightly to give his fingers better access as they apply a teasing pressure to his balls and the soft juncture just behind them. He gasps and sighs in pleasure, at the exquisitely naughty feeling of being laid out like this, of the paintings in the room somehow watching him, almost like Asami was watching him with that look of his. Those eyes. The ones that tell him that they know his every dirty little thought and secret.

Oh fuck, how he’d love those eyes to be looking at him now as he starts to stroke himself up and down softly, biting his lip as it becomes unbearable and he wants to ramp up the pressure more and more until he just can’t take it. He lets himself thrust into the sheath of his fingers once, twice, a few sharp jabs before slowing himself down again, dragging it out and making himself whine.

He sees those golden eyes again in his fantasy as he pinches the head, swirls precome around the sensitive underside of his shaft. Out of focus eyes pretending the large painting opposite his bed is Asami, though it looks nothing like him - but those strangely lifelike eyes help him hold onto the fantasy and pretend the man is here now somehow egging him on.

If he were anymore coherent, he’d realise just how far he’s fallen already.

“Hmmm, unh-!”

He arches his back, gliding on silken sheets and thrusting into his hand. Not knowing how or why he feels so wild. So free in this moment of abandonment and self pleasure.

“Haha-ah-ah-“

He cries softly with each rise and fall, his bed creaking softly, too softly for anyone to hear properly in this old grand mansion. Not that he cares at this particular moment.

“Uh-! Com-uh-!!”

His body spasms and jerks, coming all over himself in long streams of milky white. His chest heaving. Now almost immediately starting to feel slightly awkward and guilty for letting himself go like that, which he almost hardly ever does.

He wonders what it is about this place, that Asami as he reluctantly gets up to wash himself off in the bathroom, missing completely the shutter slotting back slowly over two small holes in the big antique painting opposite the bed. Scorching eyes now electric with erotic energy, energy that will be unleashed soon enough.

_“Mine.”_

Asami growls in the secret passage beyond the wall, feeling his fierce erection rage from where it longs to be free to plunder those virgin depths. Though deciding to bank that pleasure for now - deciding to indulge in another past-time of his instead.

Murder most foul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making Fei Long such a neurotic weirdo ^^'


End file.
